


The Aftermath of Bachelor Parties

by commas_and_ampersands



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen, Hangover, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commas_and_ampersands/pseuds/commas_and_ampersands
Summary: "I take it this isn't going to be a fun, sexy story where we look really awesome and cool."





	The Aftermath of Bachelor Parties

**Author's Note:**

> Written July 2006; revised April 2019.

Motoki wakes up wearing one sock on his left foot.  And nothing else.

"Oh, my," he mutters, and then decides that muttering is a very, very bad idea because his head is absolutely  _pounding._

At first, he can't think of how he got here, but then he sees several - more than several actually - bottles of tequila, and he begins to get a vague idea.  If he thinks about it very hard through the strobe pulse ache in his brain, he can almost see...

He remembers dancing on a table.

He remembers doing that Russian squat-and-kick dance on a table.

He does not remember how he wound up naked, but he has a sinking suspicion it involved that same table.

"Yeurgh."

"Not so loud," Mamoru whines from what sounds like very far away.

Motoki looks around and finds that Mamoru is actually only three feet away and wearing a very well-placed lampshade.  He's not wearing any socks.  Motoki's not sure who has the better end of the deal.  "Do you even own a lamp like that?"

"I do now," Mamoru groans, lifting his hand to push his hair out of his eyes.  It falls at his side, useless.  His hair stays right where it is.  "What time is it?"

"Don't know.  Don't care.  You have nowhere to be," Motoki says.  "Makoto and Minako promised to keep Usagi occupied this morning."  Thank God.  He's extremely fond of her, but the last thing anyone with a hangover needs is Usagi's cheerful enthusiasm and boundless affection.

"I sort of love them right now."

"I won't tell Minako."

"You are a god among men."  Mamoru tries to move his arms again.  Fails again.  "My head feels like an elephant used it as a football."

"I wish that my elephant had been so kind."

Mamoru looks down at himself and then over at Motoki.  "Where are our clothes?"

"Did you just now notice—"

"No, but the significance didn't—"

"Right, right."  Motoki shrugs.  "Honestly, I'm not that worried.  This is not the most compromising position I've woken up in."

"Yeah?"

"One time I woke up in the arcade with no memory of the previous twelve hours wearing a ball gown.  It was teal."

Mamoru wrinkles his nose.  "That's a terrible color for you."

Motoki takes a deep breath, glares.  "Mamoru.  You're my best friend, and I love you.  I've put up with a lot because of you, and I'm going to keep doing it because I want you in my life."

Mamoru looks equal parts moved, overwhelmed, and terrified by this level of sincerity.

"But I gotta draw a line somewhere, and you critiquing my fashion sense—"

"Oh, please."

"—is the god damned line.  Set it on fire, score it into the Earth.  I mean, that incense burner shirt—"

"The _mosquito coil_ shirt is art, and you're just jealous you can't wear avant garde abstractionism without looking ridiculous."  Mamoru has been trying to get up for the past few minutes and has just managed to make it up to his elbows.  He holds his position for a moment and then collapses, his head thunking against the ground.  "Ow."

Motoki could make a withering comment, but he thinks the moment speaks for itself.

"Owww," Mamoru repeats.

"Serves you right.  And—Geez!  The floor of your apartment is so uncomfortable," Motoki complains.  "The carpet's all flat.  You pace, don't you?"

"Based on the past eleven years of our friendship, I feel like that should be self-evident," Mamoru says and then suddenly pauses.  He groans and closes his eyes.  "Oh, _balls_."

"What?"

"I just remembered what happened to our clothes."

Motoki winces, preparing.  "I take it this isn't going to be a fun, sexy story where we look really awesome and cool."

Mamoru doesn't even grace that statement with an outright denial.  "You were passed out, and I was barely coherent.  You could never hold your liquor for shit," Mamoru says, and Motoki wonders if he is always this vulgar in the mornings.  "Kobayashi thought it would be funny if we woke up this way.  He took the clothes with him."

Motoki blinks so hard that it is painful.  "He what?"

"Stuck them under his arm and ran out of the apartment.  Laughing," Mamoru concludes.  "I think Shingo did the thing with the lampshade.  I guess he didn't want to see his future brother-in-law's—"

"Well, who would?"  Motoki rolls his eyes.  "That's such a stupid prank.  But could you loan me—?"

"No, you don't understand," Mamoru interrupts.  "He took the clothes.  _All the clothes that were in the apartment._ Except Usagi's, maybe."

Motoki stares.

And stares.

And just to shake things up, boggles.

"Tell me that you're joking," he pleads.

"Not at this hour," Mamoru says with as much dignity as a naked man with a lampshade on his manhood can possess.

Motoki looks up at the ceiling and feels violent for the first time in what is probably years.  "That… _jerk_."

"He's a rotten bastard son of a bitch, and vengeance will be mine.  Once I can stand up," Mamoru says. "We're going to have to… call someone.  One of the girls."  He blanches.  "Not Minako.  Definitely not Minako."

Motoki nods in emphatic agreement.  There's no chance of keeping this from her entirely, but he can at least keep her from taking "artistic nude photographs" as repayment for a favor.  Or writing a parody song about his dick or something.  "Ami?"

"She would die.  She would drop dead from sheer mortification, and I like having her around.  What about Makoto?  She's sensible, she's not easily embarrassed—"

"—and she still has a huge crush on me," Motoki concludes.  "She'd never be able to look at me in the face again, and she has a hard enough time after that thing with the waffle iron.  There's always—"

_"No."_

"Look I know you guys dated, but it's not like she even really liked you that way.  She just wanted to get one up on Usagi, and it's been seven years.  Move on."

"It's nothing to do with that.  I cannot be lectured at this hour," Mamoru says.

Motoki winces.  "Okay, that's a point."

"It's _the_ point."

"And Usagi's out until the hangover goes away."

"I'm not sitting here naked with you for that long."

"And then those other three, the moms—"

"You've met them so many times, Motoki."

"They scare me to death!  I forget their names out of self-preservation!"

"That makes absolutely no sense."

"Whatever, don't judge me."

They sit in silence for a moment before Mamoru speaks again, his voice breathless with wonder.  "Saori."

Motoki feels like slapping himself for the drama of it all, but he doesn't.  His head already hurts enough.  "We are idiots."

"Maybe she's already killed Kobayashi for us," Mamoru voices hopefully.  "She's a cop.  She could get away with it."

"I love Saori," Motoki sighs happily.  "She's my new favorite, after Reika."

"Before me?"

"You let Kobayashi take your entire wardrobe out of your apartment.  I'm not saying you're off the list.  But I am revising it."

Mamoru nods reluctantly.  "I guess that's fair."

"So that's it.  We'll call Saori."

Mamoru doesn't move.

Neither does Motoki.

"You can't move, can you?"

"No.  You?"

"No."

_"Fuck."_


End file.
